


Two of a Kind

by cakeengland



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, FOR TEN YEARS, First Kiss, Multi, Reader is another demon created by Mundus, Trish Knows Exactly What She's Doing, dante asks awkward questions, delusion-induced self-harm, it wouldn't be a dmc fic if someone didn't get impaled, reader has been trapped in the underworld with mundus's voice in their head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 19:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeengland/pseuds/cakeengland
Summary: Ever since the destruction of Mallet Island ten years ago, you've been trapped in the Underworld with only the cruel words of your master and creator, Mundus, for company. With every day that passes, he tries to turn you against your best friend, Trish, by making you resent her for escaping his clutches while you didn't. What he doesn't know is that you have a secret. And that secret is about to be brought to light.





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day three of whumptober, prompt was 'Delirium!' I had fun with this even if it took me about five hours to write because I kept getting distracted. It's a lot easier to write for Trish than V, I've found, perhaps because I'm more used to writing her, though she kept wanting to drag the confession scene into a... different direction.

_ “She abandoned you.” _

Ten years of being trapped in the darkest depths of the Underworld with only the voice of your cruel master ringing in your head would ruin anyone’s psyche, and you were no exception.

_ “Don’t you hate her?” _

“Shutupshutupshutup,” you whispered frantically as you backed up against the wall, collapsing to your knees as you grabbed fistfuls of your hair and  _ tugged.  _ The intense pain only distracted you for a moment before you heard that hated, sneering voice again, echoing around in your head and leaving no escape.

_ “You weren’t good enough for her and the son of Sparda to save. You. Belong. To. Me.” _

You screamed, nails clawing at your skin in a desperate attempt to get Mundus  _ out.  _ Through a delirious haze, you saw red well up to the broken surface, though the gouges sewed themselves up moments later. A perk in most circumstances; right now, it only served as a con.

Disembodied, mocking laughter echoed all around and you swore you were going to go insane soon.  _ “What a pathetic little thing you are. You—” _

“GET OUT!” Your sudden shout was enough to shut him up for the moment, winning you a few blissful seconds of silence as you cradled your head. “I HATE YOU!”

Of course, a few seconds didn’t last long.  _ “You claim to hate me, and yet you cannot hope to survive without me, useless wretch.” _

Before you could retort or fight back, there was a  _ crash  _ and one of the walls of your prison caved in. Mundus’s presence vanished from your mind as you scrambled to your feet, more wound up than a spooked and injured animal. In some ways, that was an apt descriptor of your current state.

As the dust settled, you could make out a couple figures. A pair of men in their late thirties, it seemed, similar in appearance if not for their hairstyles (one wore his hair down, the other had it slicked back) and opposing color schemes, red and blue respectively. Both, however, wielded wickedly sharp swords and emanated a powerful demonic aura; both were threats.

With a screech, you lunged for the one in blue, your elemental power flickering at your fingertips. With one deft motion, he unsheathed his blade and sent you flying into the opposite wall, without so much as a scratch to show for it.

“Woah there, not one for conversation, huh?” You scrambled to your feet as the red one approached with a laidback grin, baring your teeth. “Just getting straight to the point? Fine by me.”

Without warning, he struck, leaving you with barely enough time to throw up a shield of elemental energy. Your attacker skidded to a stop just inches away from the barrier, and the ripple it caused briefly pushed the hair from his eyes just long enough for you to recognize—the son of Sparda!  _ Dante! _

_ “You!”  _ Confusion flickered across Dante’s features as you sprang at him with a furious howl, taking advantage of his shock to tackle him to the ground. Your fingers warped into claws as you struck him again and again, anger and hatred mingling with the demonic power that coursed through your body as you willed the legendary devil hunter to just  _ die  _ for what he did to you!

So swept up in your need for vengeance, you had completely forgotten about the other. This proved to be a grave mistake as suddenly you felt a white hot pain through your chest, stilling your hands. With a choked gasp, you cast your gaze downwards, finding the blue-clad demon’s katana had impaled you straight through.

“Do you know this devil, Dante?” he asked as he withdrew his blade in one clean motion. You gasped as the metal was removed from your chest, keeling onto your side; though a simple impalement was far from enough to kill you, you had been weakened since before the pair had stepped foot in your prison.

“Maybe?” Dante got to his feet, peering at you curiously, then his eyes widened. “It’s Trish’s friend.”

“Trish’s friend?” You couldn’t decide if the other’s tone was disbelief or surprise. It didn’t really matter, as the tip of his katana came to rest against your throat. An obvious warning. “I wasn’t aware she had any, outside of the group, of course.”

“From Mallet Island,” Dante elaborated. “Dunno their history, but Trish would kill  _ us  _ if we killed ‘em.”

Trish… The meaning of his words took a moment to settle in. Trish still cared about you? Even after all these years, she remembered you? You tried to voice these questions, but all you could manage was a strangled croak.

“Shhh, don’t try to speak,” Dante hushed you, bending down onto one knee beside you. “I mean, God knows how long you’ve been down here. Ten years, was it?”

You were silent. Dante shook his head after a moment, chuckling. “S’pose I should’ve expected that.” He rose to his feet again. “Well, doesn’t seem like they wanna murder us anymore, so you can probably take that katana of yours away from their neck.”

“As you wish.” Dante’s companion didn’t sound exactly thrilled, but he did as requested. Dante himself bent down to unceremoniously sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Ten years worth of exhaustion settled on you all at once, and you found you could only grunt in indignation at your treatment. Dante laughed. “What, you expecting a bridal carry? Sorry, no can do, but maybe—”

You passed out before you could hear the rest of his sentence.

* * *

When you awoke, it was to a sensation you had never felt before. A strange softness cushioned your body, and you blinked open your eyes. Clear, pure sunlight streamed through the window of the… room you were in. Room. You weren’t in the Underworld anymore. What had happened between you passing out and arriving here, wherever here was?

Your eyes landed on the figure lounging in the armchair across the room, idly flipping through a magazine. Blonde hair spilled across her shoulders, one leg tossed over the other. Black corset, pants, boots and choker… she’d changed over the years, but there was no mistaking the figure in front of you. Not long ago, the sight of her would’ve made your blood boil, but as your recent memories came flooding back, you quickly came to realize she wasn’t your enemy.

“Trish,” you rasped, and she looked up. She smirked as she saw you awake, tossing aside her magazine and standing to stretch, before striding over to your bedside.

“Look who’s finally awake,” she teased, hands playfully on her hips, before she bit her lip. “It’s been a long time.” She murmured your name, and you couldn’t help but sigh. It had been so many years since you’d heard her say it, and even now, there was something about the way she uttered it that caused a pleasant tingling in your fingertips.

You found you had no words at you stared at the beauty before you. You’d thought she was stunningly gorgeous since the moment you met her, and time had hardly changed that. Her hair was fluffier than it used to be, her corset’s design had changed, she’d added a tiny lightning bolt to her choker, and dark sunglasses no longer obscured brilliant blue eyes, but other than that, she was still Trish. If anything, the changes only made her all the more radiant.

Trish clicked her tongue, dragging you out of your thoughts. “There’s plenty of time to stare at me once I know you’re in good health,” she teased, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

You let her fuss over you for a while, thoughts drifting as careful touches skirted across your skin. Being a demon, it was no surprise you turned out to be already completely healed, and when it seemed like Trish was satisfied, you ventured to ask, “Trish, where are we?”

“Devil May Cry,” Trish answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and combing her fingers through her perfect locks. “It’s the devil hunting agency run by my partner. You remember Dante, judging by how he said you reacted when you recognize him.”

“Partner?” Your eyes flew open. Had the son of Sparda really snatched up your best friend before you’d even had a chance to fully process your own feelings for her?

Before you could dwell on this thought for more than a few seconds, however, Trish threw her head back and laughed, a clear, melodious sound that set your heart aflutter. Very few things in this world were better than Trish’s laugh. “Don’t worry,” she said, and her lips were forming your name again. “Business partners. We aren’t romantically involved.”

You couldn’t help but sigh in relief, the tension draining from your body as you relaxed back into the pillows. Trish smirked at you. Damn her; there was no wonder as to why so many in the Underworld whispered of her as ‘the bewitching devil.’ She’d certainly bewitched you. “Why, someone feeling a little jealous?” she teased, and you had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Not at all,” you still tried to deny despite every evidence to the contrary. It only caused Trish to smirk wider, and as she ‘idly’ tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, you knew she was preening for your benefit.

“Well, that’s good,” she commented, as though she had no idea of the effect she was having on you. Well, that was just fine. Two could play at that game. “I would hate for you to be jealous, especially considering there is somebody I quite like.”

The way she subtly licked her lips and the coy look she gave you out of the corner of her eye did not go unnoticed. She’d already won this little game, and you both knew it, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try anyway. “Oh really? And who might that be?” you asked innocently, but just as you’d predicted, this response far from frustrated Trish; in fact, you playing along only seemed to delight her.

“Oh, you know, just a little special someone,” she replied lightly, shifting so that she was kneeling on the bed. “No one you need to worry about.” She dared to stroke your cheek with a feather-light touch, and you shuddered. It was obvious that the devil before you desired nothing more than to claim your lips with her own, but she knew better than to simply take what she wanted, instead seeking permission with her eyes. You gave her a little nod.

And so Trish kissed you.

It was electricity, and if you hadn’t known better, you would’ve suspected Trish had somehow imbued it with her powers. It was fire, and it was passion, and it was ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you’ and pure  _ desire  _ and a thousand other meanings all at once.

“No one to worry about, huh?” you breathed as you pulled away after what seemed like an eternity, gazing into blue eyes that seemed to glow with intensity. Trish chuckled, her breath tickling your throat.

“No one worry about at all,” she whispered, before dipping down to capture your lips once more.

* * *

Your relationship with Trish had clicked into place easily, like it was always meant to be. She helped teach you about the human world as well, with the help of the Sparda twins—and boy had it been a surprise to learn that the one who had stabbed you was your former coworker, Vergil. Talk about friendly greetings. You had to say, you had never imagined he’d be so handsome underneath the kinda tacky armor; but Trish was far more beautiful. Hell, Trish was the sun, the moon, and a sea of sparkling stars all at once as far as you were concerned.

“So like, is it weird that you two are dating?” You paused at Dante’s inquiry, hands stilling where they were braiding Trish’s hair. The blonde devil made a slightly annoyed sound, lifting her gaze from her magazine to glance over at Dante.

“Care to elaborate, Dante?” she finally asked when it became obvious you weren’t going to continue anytime soon. Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out what the hell had even prompted that question.

Dante shrugged, not looking either of you in the eyes. “Just wondering. You were both created by Mundus. Thought it might be a bit like siblings.”

A beat of silence, then Trish was laughing harder than you’d ever seen before, quaking in your lap. Even you couldn’t hold back an amused smile. What a very Dante-like thought to have.

“What?” Dante held up his hands defensively. “It was just a question.”

“Creation isn’t the same as human birth, Dante,” you explained patiently, as your girlfriend seemed to be showing no signs of being done any time soon. “We don’t share the same blood at all.”

“Besides,” Trish added as her laughter subsided to giggles, “being siblings would require us seeing Mundus as our father. I’m sure it goes without saying that this isn’t the case.”

“Okay, fair point,” Dante conceded, before turning his attention back to his own magazine, probably to save face. You just shook your head in amusement, returning to braiding Trish’s hair. Everything was back to normal.


End file.
